On Making Conversation Through A Cocaine Haze
by WildeOne
Summary: Brian/Mandy. Brian/Curt (implied.) Oh wow. Just realised that this is a surprisingly unslashy piece. It really wrote itself, I swear, which must be why there's no boy-boy action. Don't worry though, it's not romantic between Brian/Mandy.


This is dedicated to my gorgeous Mao because, well, because she's Mao that's why! Now, go read her stuff! Glitter Peacock is her name and writing the best VG fiction known to (wo)man is her game.

I swear, this had a life of its own. I honestly didn't know what I was writing, and I don't even agree with what I'm saying! So don't blame me. Blame the VG monster that has possessed this story!

Right. On with the show…

"Think about what God has done. How can anyone straighten out what God has made crooked?"  - Ecclesiastes 7:13. How could I _not_ include that?

"So I am convinced that we should enjoy ourselves, because the only pleasure we have in this life is eating and drinking and enjoying ourselves. We can at least do this as we labour during the life that God has given us in this world" – Ecclesiastes 8:15. Hey, it's hedonistic enough for our boys at any rate…

COCAINE HAZE 

"I'm really starting to hate you," she says, lying next to you after you've fucked her. You try not to laugh but the coke is so wild through you, infiltrating you betraying you so you can't help it when a giggle escapes and she gives a disgusted snort.

"Are you fucking high again? Jesus Brian, can't you lay off it for one fucking minute?" and you know she must be absolutely livid beneath her almost petulant words because her American accent, harsh and braying, is bleeding back into her voice. You laugh again, almost involuntarily, but not quite: you're not yet that far gone. She rolls over onto her stomach in preparation to get up, making a face at the used condom lying in-between you.

"Brian." Shit. She said something, and you didn't even hear. Maybe you're further than you thought.

"Mmm?" trying to concentrate but it's so damn hard through your cocaine haze…

"Brian, I hate you." The words sound so final in your ears, and you realise she's waiting for a response, but you don't know what the fuck you can say to that.

"Do you love me? Do you even care?" and the truth is no, you haven't loved her for quite some time, but she knows this and you wonder why she's even asking.

"I'm leaving you." Ah.

"Really?" She knows it's warranted, considering how many times she's threatened you with it before, but she doesn't rise to the bait in your bored tone.

"Yes Brian, really. Now you're free to marry Curt if that's what you want." You freeze at the incongruity – the _absurdity_ – of this statement. Curt? She's angry about Curt? Is that what this is all about? Your coke-fried brain tries to keep up, but it's proving damn near impossible… With a decided effort you try to think, saying (intelligently)

"What?" 

"Curt, Brian, Curt. Your lover. Or have you forgotten him as well?" Now she's playing the spurned, injured lover quite well, and you're not sure what to do. It's been a long time since you've seen her this vulnerable. Or maybe it's just the drugs. Who knows.

"No, Mandy, I know very well who Curt is. Why would I want, even if it were possible, to marry him?" She regards you oddly for a moment, and you're disconcerted, but then she's done, and there's an almost resolute look around her: she's finally realised you honestly have no clue what the fuck she's talking about.

"It's obvious you love him, you asshole, and he's fucking crazy about you." You look so confused that she takes pity on you.

"Love, Brian. Remember?" she says it gently, almost wistfully, you suppose she's thinking about those first blissful months of marriage.

"Yes. Love. I'm not having difficulties with the word, Mandy," patiently, as if to an afflicted child, "What I don't understand is why you're talking about love, Curt and marriage in connection. He's a bloody good fuck is all. And we all know he's only shagging me so that Jerry and I will try and salvage what remains of his career." Jesus. That was more bitter than you thought it would come out. Her head jerks up, startled.

"You honestly have no clue, do you?" she says, disbelief flavoured with pity.

"No clue what Mandy?" more of a statement than a question, impatience laced through your growing confusion.

"Curt -  loves -  you." very slowly and clearly. You shake your head.

"No, he doesn't he - "

"Yes he does," she interrupts forcefully, "and what's more, you bloody wanker, _you love him too_." You continue with the head shaking, despite the horrific headache it's breeding throughout every plane of your skull.

"No, I don't, I just – " she interrupts you again, and you smile before you can catch yourself – she used to do this all the time when you were first married. You used to think it was a sign of her inattention, but when you quizzed her you found it was only that she knew what you were going to say before you'd said it. You smile now because you're amused in a distant, ironic sort of way. Bringing you back to the present,

"You just what, Brian? Wouldn't recognise love if it offered you a fucking hit? Or maybe that's all you do love, your fucking coke, your groupies, your fucking -" but this time you interrupt her,

"No," you say it softly, but you instantly have her full attention, "No, I do love. I love Maxwell Demon." And you look up, straight into her eyes. And you think, just maybe, she understands.

"Brian, you _are_ Maxwell Demon. What are you saying?" Maybe not. You shrug.

"I'm not, I – he's too big, it's like…" and you start pacing, trying to encompass your demon within the scope of your hands. She watches with increasing fear in her eyes: you're mad! You turn around and recognise the look.

"No! No Mand, it's not like that. I'm not fucking crazy."

"Maybe it's the coke talking then."

"No. Damnit, I knew you wouldn't understand."

"What's there to understand? You've had one too many hits and they've finally fried what little brain you fucking had. I needa piss." She leaves and you lay back down on the bed. You hear the toilet flush, the light-switch turn back off, and she comes back in. Your eyes are closed.

"Brian?" almost tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." You wonder what that means.

"Are you going to leave me?"

"What? Oh, no, I guess not for a while yet." She lies down on the bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you like you used to, spooned together, although it seems to you that there's less sex in this and more shipwrecked-sailor comfort.

"I still think you love him more than you think."

"Yeah, probably."

"And I know he'd do anything for you. Jesus Brian, you should see his face when you walk in! He's always so fucking happy it's sort of sad."

"Sad, how?"

"Well he loves you so much, and he knows you don't know it, but you make him so goddamn happy anyway… it's just kinda sad." She seems lost in thought for a moment. Then,

"Did you ever love me?" she asks now, almost whispering, and you know this means the world to her. So you answer honestly, and it feels like layers of debris fall off and everything is incredibly clear – clear like it hasn't been in years. You don't even feel stoned.

"Yes, of course I did. I wouldn't have married you if I didn't. I loved you very much. Still do. Just not like in the beginning, you know?" You roll over so you can face her.

"Do you still love me?"

"Very much so."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"God we're a load of bloody teenagers." And she laughs tremulously at your painful yet truthful attempt at humour through incipient tears.

"Mandy. I'm sorry." She sniffles for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe you or not. Apologise is not something you do frequently.

"Me too."

"For what?" you ask, surprised.

"For loving you still. And for Curt. I wish, you know, if I can't have you, I'd want you to be happy with him. He's a really good guy."

"Really? You'd really want me to be happy?" 

"Mmmhuh."

            "Can I, um, kiss you?" and this is new. This is you _asking_, not just taking_._ Breathless, she answers by pressing her lips on yours. 

            It's all a temporary truce, but it tastes so fucking good as you fuck again, and she's soft and undemanding under you, in ways that Curt never is. Suddenly, with a clarity of thought you'd thought you'd lost forever to Maxwell Demon, you regret hurting her all the times you have.

            "I'm sorry," you whisper, as you're thrusting in her.

            "I know," she whispers, thrusting back. You remind yourself of two children with cut fingers trying to comfort each other. It then strikes you that maybe this should be obscene, this comfort-fuck, but it doesn't really seem that way to you. 

            You finish up, and start to fall asleep alone together: something you haven't done in ages.

            "I love you," she mumbles as she's drifting off.

            "I love you too," you mumble back, giving up trying to fight sleep. You know you'll probably regret it in the morning, but this night has been one of the best in…a long time. You think about Curt, how you'll face him tomorrow, knowing what you do, and whether you love him, whether he loves you, what you'll do when Mandy finally leaves you…but then her arm tightens around you as if she can hear your thoughts, and you think it just might be all right.


End file.
